


Scions

by velvetglove



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-07
Updated: 2004-02-07
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetglove/pseuds/velvetglove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/354728">Eidolon Helvum</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Scions

It's Christmas, which is just sad without his parents. Bruce is tired and he doesn't want to be here, but he has no choice. It's the stockholders party and he _is_ Wayne Enterprises, or at least the shape it takes in public, and there's always the chance that some old guy will want to shake his hand and talk to him like he's stupid, or a baby. He sits on the floor, back to the wall, and looks up at the coats, racked ranks of black cashmere and dark fur. Alfred knows where he is, will come find him when he needs him, or when it's time to leave, but that could be hours from now. 

The door opens, but it's not Alfred. It's the bald guy, Lex Luthor. When they were all in the dining room, Bruce thought he was old because of the baldness, but he's not. He's older than Bruce himself, but he's still a kid, even if he is allowed to drink champagne. When he closes the door on the noise behind him, he looks relieved, but then he sees Bruce and his face tightens again.

Bruce says, "Hello."

"Hi." Lex Luthor puts on a fake smile, the kind adults use to indulge children. "What are you doing in here by yourself?"

It's insulting to be talked down to. "Same thing you're doing. Hiding." If Lex Luthor is going to be tiresome, Bruce might as well ignore him. He closes his eyes and prepares to be alone. 

"Well. Okay." Bruce opens one eye and watches. Lex Luthor is thinking, and something in his face shifts. "Is there room in here for me, too? Or should I find another place to hide?"

Bruce opens the other eye. "Here's okay."

He comes closer. He has a kind of swishy walk. "I'm Lex." He switches his champagne glass to his left hand and holds the right out to shake. 

Bruce accepts the proffered hand and shakes. "I know. You're Lex Luthor."

"And you're Bruce Wayne." Lex squats down and his knees crack. He eases himself down onto the floor beside Bruce and stretches his long legs out in front of him. 

Bruce waits until Lex is settled, through shifting and tugging at the creases at the front of his suit pants, and then he clears his throat. "I'll bet," he says, "that people always ask first about your hair. What happened to it. But I'm not going to ask."

Lex says, "You're right. That _is_ what people always ask. But you can ask if you want."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, what happened to your hair?"

Lex skims a hand over his scalp. It looks like an unconscious gesture; he probably doesn't even realize he does it. "There was an accident, an explosion. It all fell out, but no one knows why."

"Do you miss it?"

"Having hair? Not really. I'm used to it now."

"How old were you?"

"Nine."

Bruce imagines what it would have been like to spend the last few years without hair. "I'm twelve."

"Really?" 

"I'm a late bloomer," Bruce says defensively. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen. And I was a late bloomer, too." Lex is still giving Bruce that indulgent smile, but Bruce doesn't really mind so much any more, maybe because now it seems like Lex really means it. 

Bruce is hiding because he's bored, because he doesn't like people, because he really doesn't know anything about business and he isn't allowed to make decisions anyway. This, the cloakroom, is the compromise. He can wander away from the party, so long as he doesn't wander _too_ far. If Bruce was Lex Luthor, he'd just leave. Lex Luthor is almost an adult, so he can do what he wants. Bruce is sure that no one blinks when he takes a champagne flute from a passing waiter's tray. No one takes it away from him and says, "I think not, Master Bruce." 

Lex doesn't look like he's planning on leaving. He's supremely content slumped against the baseboard. He drains the last of the champagne and sets the glass on the floor. He smiles at Bruce. 

Bruce asks, "Why are you hiding?"

Lex shrugs. "I don't like parties." Amended to, "I don't like _business_ parties."

"Why don't you leave?"

"I promised I'd stay."

"Who did you promise?"

"My father." Lex makes a face as he says this; it makes him look younger, more like a kid. 

"Don't you like your dad?"

Lex sits up a little straighter. "Not particularly."

" _My_ dad's dead. So's my mom." Bruce knows that Lex is probably already aware of this, but it's important to Bruce to _say_ it. 

"My mom's dead," Lex offers. Bruce is surprised; he knows a lot about Lex, actually, but he didn't know that. 

"How did she die?"

"Her heart." Lex looks sad. "She'd been sick a long time."

Bruce knows he sounds inappropriately excited when he says, "My mom was murdered. They both were. I saw it happen." He's not glad she was murdered; he's not glad about any of it. It's just that no one ever wants to hear his story.

Lex flinches. "That's horrible. That's the worst thing I've ever heard." He looks like he means it, too. 

"I still have nightmares," Bruce says, feeling a weird grin stretching his lips. He can't help it. "He shot her in the face. There was blood everywhere."

"Jesus!" Lex murmurs. "Did they catch the person who did it?"

"No. But I remember _his_ face." Lex looks upset, almost angry on Bruce's behalf, so Bruce tries to reassure him. "I'll find him someday," Bruce says. " _Then_ he'll be sorry."

Lex's face goes shocked and blank for a moment, but then he smiles, bright and broad. "I think you're right. _Very_ sorry."

Bruce flushes with pleasure, his face hot as he looks down at his hands in his lap. They sit in companionable silence. Lex interrupts it once to say, "I should have brought some food."

Human sounds float in from the corridor, but no one else comes into the cloakroom. The muffled voices remind him of his mother and her friends talking as he played in the next room. He forgets where he is after awhile, and he must have fallen asleep, because when he wakes up he's leaning against Lex, and Lex has an arm around him. 

Lex is smoking cigarettes that he must have taken from someone's coat pocket, tapping the ashes in the empty champagne flute. When he realizes Bruce is awake, he says, "Hey," and gives Bruce a sad sort of half-smile. 

"Hey." Bruce should move, probably, but Lex doesn't seem to mind him leaning and it's…nice. Warm. He used to sit like this with his dad. 

Lex takes a deep drag and lets the smoke out his nose like a dragon. He says, "I had a brother once. He would have been a little younger than you."

Bruce tenses a little. "What happened to him?"

Lex looks away. "He died." 

"That's too bad." It _is_ too bad. Lex would make a good big brother. "Was he sick?"

Lex makes a rueful face. "Not really. He just died."

"You shouldn't smoke, you know." All this talk of death makes Bruce health-conscious. 

"I know. But it reminds me of my mother." He squeezes Bruce a little tighter, and Bruce moves a little closer, but they're both being careful to not make a big deal out of it. 

"Did smoking make her sick?"

Lex considers. "Well, it didn't _help_ her any."

Bruce reaches for the cigarette. "Can I have one?"

Lex holds it out of reach. "No."

"Why?"

"You're twelve."

Bruce takes a chance: "So? How old were _you_ when you started smoking?" 

Lex makes a face and hands Bruce a cigarette. Bruce can only smoke half of it before he feels sick. He puts it out, careful not to crush it, and pockets the remaining half. 

When Alfred comes to fetch him, he quickly hides his surprise at finding that Bruce has company. "Master Lex!" Alfred exclaims. "Good evening!"

Lex jumps at the sound of Alfred's voice. He says. "Is my father looking for me?"

"He may very well be," Alfred concedes. "But I've come to fetch Master Bruce."

"It's okay," Bruce tells him, shooting a glance at Lex. "I don't need to leave yet. I could stay here awhile." 

But Lex stands up, responding to adult signals. "I should be going, though," he says. He holds out his hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Bruce."

Bruce shakes his hand. He doesn't want to let go. "Could I--could I call you sometime?" It would be nice to talk to someone besides Alfred and whatever psychiatrist he's seeing this week. 

Lex's face brightens. "Sure," he says. "Just a minute." He disappears into the racks and returns with a black cashmere topcoat. He takes a Montblanc and a matchbook from the pocket and writes down a number on the inside of the cover. 

"Thanks." Bruce turns the matchbook over. "Club Zero. What's that?"

Alfred answers. "It's a nightclub." And to Lex he says, "Thank you. You're very kind."

Lex shrugs on his coat and shakes his head, laughing. "No, I'm really not." He smiles at Bruce and says, "I'll talk to you soon, right?"

"Yes." Bruce holds the matchbook carefully, wary of smearing the ink. He smiles; Alfred always tells him he has a nice smile when he chooses to use it. "We'll talk soon." 


End file.
